Turnabout Is Fair Play
by RG15
Summary: <html><head></head>He lost everything. His music.. his theatre and all the riches that he had. What more could he lose? Little did Erik know that he has a life far grander than what he could have hoped for. But he knew one thing in life, that nothing is freely given. And what if life itself.. his name.. his past are the things that he must give up in order to get the prize that he sought.</html>
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** _ He lost everything. His music.. his theatre and all the riches that he had. What more could he lose? Little did Erik know that he has a life far grander than what he could have hoped for. But he knew one thing in life, that nothing is freely given. And what if life itself.. his name.. his past are the things that he must give up in order to get the prize that he sought._

_After two years of marriage to the Viscount of Chagny, Christine Daae is determined to prove that her husband did not commit a murder. The key to her husband's freedom led her to more surprises- and one that she does not clearly expect- the Phantom. But Christine will not be giving up her investigation even if she has to work with the devil himself- an astoundingly handsome and mysterious man whose dangerous allure can delve up the hidden and long buried passion in her heart._

**Author's Note:** The Phantom was not only an architect, designer, musician, and singer- he's also a magician- well, according to Madame Giry. I thought to use that bit of information to fit to the genre that I'm going to use. The story is mixed with supernatural and fantasy but I will not characterize him as an evil, black-hooded, scary man that will cast some spells to those who displeases him. No, I will only add some bit of fantasy here and there. I'll focus more with Erik in this story. What behind this and that- things that are a mystery to us about him. He seems the mysterious kind. And I'm terribly attracted to that type of characters. I'm really itching to write something about him.

I admit, I was reluctant to write something about this movie, not only because I'm used to writing one-shots but I'm not that confident that this will fit to the readers' appetite and criteria. I'll make you curious enough to read this, though. But I do hope you'll stick with this, if this story turns out quite pleasant enough for you.

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><p><strong>~ Chapter One ~<strong>

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><p><em><strong>LONDON <strong>_

The outskirts of Paris was dark and daunting as the moon loomed behind the clouds. Its narrow roads extend to darker alleyways where all the possible criminals dwell. Not even the most agile bounty hunters could compete with those who professed in these streets.

Sharpe Winter swung on his feet; the small flicker of light from his cigar was the only indication of his presence, dangerous and sinister in his dark clothes. He was considered to be a dangerous man among the London and France city folks and he was quite pleased for being named as 'Lord Savage' after a mishap that started in a small tavern where he drunkenly beat and smacked everyone to sleep. Taverns in London lacks the savagery of the Lowlands or Highlands that he was accustomed of. After that incident, he didn't dare step near a tavern outside of Norway unless it can't be helped. He let his friends and brothers to do the brawling for him for he feared that he might wreak every tavern in the whole of London down with his drunken stupor.

He sauntered close to the shadows, waiting wearily, and went out when loads of cart was delivered to a carriage down by the corner. Their work was done.

He shouted in Gaelic to the men who unloaded the goods and threw a small pouch of coins to them. Black traders were strictly prohibited in the place and those who were caught paid for it dearly with their necks hanging in the gallows. Not that any of his men were reckless. He made it quite sure that their connections would not betray them. If so should they fail, they all better be prepared.

After glancing around for the last time, Sharpe took off with the other three who work with him. Life was indeed harsh. Men like him were forged like steel to stay emotionless and indifferent- like cold winter- to their works. Well, at least, that life was behind him now. Although, one couldn't stay away from vices that long.

There were times where desperation was going to laugh dearly at your face. Like dying of starvation. They stole great and expensive valuables from many estates, mansions, and townhouses around London and they exchanged it for food after they sell it to the very same class of men- or rather aristocrats- that they stole those things from.

They rode for days, only stopping for a quick change of horses, and went on with the journey. Sharpe never slept. They couldn't risk crossing with highwaymen, and they would not certainly survive a month without food. The women and children had already used everything that they could to prevent the plague that fell on Glenmore. The laird was killed in an ambush. And the whole council was in a dispute.

They stopped short for a short meal at a small inn. The ride ahead was dangerous for they were intruding in an enemy's land.

"Will you go on ahead?"

"Are ye mad? You can't go on alone if we're to leave you here!" A red-haired man exclaimed from the stables, pulling at the reins of two black Arabs. The horses' sleek and dark coloring was imperceptible in the darkness of the woods. Two men should at least ride separately, flanking the carriage at both sides, to fight easily when the enemy attacked. "What if Dornoch's men are patrolling the area?"

"That's no trouble, Colle. I'll take the hidden route. And even if that is to happen, I'll be able to distract them from you." Colle, as Sharpe's childhood friend and one of the best archers in Glenmore, has been the most loyal and reliable companion to him. The man's hard-headed and set ways to be the protective big brother to him was an annoying trait they both share, which left them in unending arguments.

"What's with this sudden impulse of yours? Got an eel in yer head, Sharpe? We've endured several changes of plans the moment we left Glenmore! Why, we traveled through a lake, hid among a herd of sheep…

By the time Colle finished half of his rantings, Sharpe had already tied a bagful of fruits to his horse's saddle. "If we didn't do any of those, we would have been tied to some post with our bodies battered to dust. Surely, our enemies will be pleased to no end."

"And for us to dress ourselves like mad witches?" He chuckled at the incredulous look at the man's face. "And chant and sing like that bizarre theater woman?" Colle grumbled on. Snatching a pile of grass from the horse's feedbox, he imitated a very haughty and ladylike posture, and fanned to himself with an exaggerated gracefulness. "I am, Carlotta Giudi- whatever, you dare trample on my.. err.. peacock of a dog?" He, then, threw the grass away with a very angry scowl.

This time, Sharpe didn't try to hold back the laughter, he howled until there were tears in the corners of his eyes.

He remembered how Colle had unintentionally kicked the said dog with a peacock costume and intentionally kicked it again when he didn't know it was really a living and breathing dog. And the simple deed could have been resolved easily by running away. But no, Colle didn't recognize bitches with a pretty seductive face until it's too late. They ended up facing the most peculiar buxom creature to ever slap Colle in the face.

Sharpe couldn't fault his friend. The dog, indeed, looked like a peacock with its fur glued with colorful feathers. It was not moving in the hallway, and the costume was to be blamed for certain. Poor dog..

"Come now, Colle, let us not 'trample' on people's high reserve of themselves or their... pets." Sharpe straightened from where he stood and rubbed his eyes with his shirtsleeves.

"But she's killing that dog! Forcing it to be a bird for pity's sake. If all the actresses in that theater are like her, then it's not surprising how the place erupted into flames."

"That's enough." Sharpe said, knowing that his friend won't stop until he had said all the possible sarcastic remarks he knows. "Let's get back to work. I'll visit Old Naan and give them some food. They saved us from that damned plague. God knows we would have been dead by now, if weren't for them." He was on the process of taking a sack of rice- when something caught his eye.

"Ye Gods, what's with these loads anyway? The horses easily tire and we've travelled only for two days since we've changed provisions. By the weight of these, we can last a year and never worry that we'll starve." Another man said as he hoisted himself on one of the horses.

"Well, let us hope that all of those are goods, and not some comely wench Sharpe fished from some tavern." Colle chuckled, waiting for some cutting remark from his friend, but nothing came.

"It seems that tis no wench." He showed a dark coat to them. "Where did this come from? Did anyone of ye rob some wealthy bastard's stinkin' wardrobe again? Didn't I already told ye, ye thick headed chaps that we must cover our tracks? " All of them shook their heads in denial.

"It must be from the Gypsy lads, and nothing of importance." Yes, it must be.. but something about it was bothering him. It was certainly not from Glenmore. He checked the carriage and carts before they left. He checked the goods twice before they left Paris. And it certainly wasn't there. Something's amiss.. .

"No wench would own something as ominous as this. And the smell," he sniffed at the soft and thick fabric. "It smells like.. . cinders."

AU: Erik will be coming up next.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: Okay, it took me so long to write a new chapter. And I apologize, immensely for my idleness. I got a life besides being a whimsical writer. But I do hope that I could give more time with this story.

Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera and Erik are not mine, unfortunately so. But the other characters that I used like Sharpe Winter is just a fictional character from my imaginative mind.

Do enjoy reading the story. And let me know your opinions once you're done. I'm afraid that I've lost some of my touch with this. So, read, enjoy, and review. Thanks a lot.

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><p>Chapter two<p>

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><p>Erik has never felt such a scalding pain in his life.<p>

He went through many things but never such a painful burn that seemed to rip his back into shreds. If he weren't a sensible man he'd think that the wooden column that fell on him was actually Lucifer in its burning epitome- personally bringing him to hell. Not that he'll be surprised if that were to really happen. He had demons that haunt him day and night. Meeting their boss was nothing new. Erik faltered, breathing hard. He's losing blood.

His skin must have been scorched so deep that he was almost numb to all sensation except for the pain. He had taken off his coat because its weight on his back was making his burns stick to his shirt. He left it somewhere. He couldn't remember where. He only remembered the smell of poultry and lots of movements as if he's in a carriage ride except that he must have been hoarded somewhere vile and small.

Erik looked around him. The place he got into now was not small. It's certainly vast. And it's filled with looming trees.

The forest was dark. It's not the place he imagined himself to die. He thought of Christine. She promised to bury his body once the fire died. He imagined himself in her arms as she sang a song, a farewell, slowly as she place a rose against his chest, the same rose he gave her countless of times. Unfortunately, he's alive and dying somewhere. In a forest.. He should be dead by now.

Maybe he should stop walking and just lie in the ground, waiting for the scavengers to smell his blood and eat his flesh.

After everything.. after losing everything. He should be dead by now.

Scotland Border

Sharpe paused in his tracks, ever as perceptive as a cat in the darkness. His senses highly tuned as if he could feel something amiss in the air. In the forest air. Well, anywhere he'd look there's only trees and plants- small plants, big plants-

And a human shaped plant.. crouched against a tree.

His body stilled, grimly waiting. He might be in the enemy's territory. There's no hope that his friends had followed him into the forest. They knew when to break his commands and when to follow them. And they didn't know the place- didn't know he was often visiting this area of the lowlands during such moonless nights.

The shadow moved as if in struggle. He sensed Sharpe's presence.

"Ahh, you came to finally take me?" Sharpe's brows furrowed in confusion. "You took your bloody time. This place is really not comfortable."

Sharpe slowly held the hilt of his sword at his waist, contemplating if he should surprise the stranger with an attack or go with the odd conversation to see if he could uncover his intentions. Take him where? The nearest place was Naan's hut which was deeply hidden behind the large forest trees and mountain rocks.

"Why, now you're ignoring me?" The man said, his tone was far from angry but somewhat amused. Amused?

"Who are you?"

"You don't know me?" Now there's incredulity in his voice.

"I would not ask the question if I did." The stranger snorted.

"You might as well not bother knowing my name since you're going to take my life anyway." Sharpe relaxed his hold on his sword. The man was not armed, but he would not be so foolish as to take his word.

"Where do you plan to go?" He heard a sound, which was suspiciously like a sigh.

"Well, I didn't expect that you'd let me choose, knowing your nature not to be nice in many written materials." Sharpe took a few steps closer to him. His nose twitched in the pungent smell of blood. Now that he could see a bit clearer, Sharpe noted the red stain in his shirt. The man was wounded. He quickly scanned the trees for enemies or any sign that a battle happened in the place. There was none. This man came alone. He didn't even have a horse. Or maybe he lost his mount, or fell from it. That might be the reason why he clutched tightly at his stomach.

"Here, let me help you. You're bleeding." Sharpe put down the sack he was carrying and dropped to one knee beside the stranger.

"I'm dying." The man said, seemingly surprised and astonished.

"Yes, I can clearly see that."

"You're not supposed to help me. You should be taking me to hell or whatever rein of fire you call it."

"Well, If I am the Grim Reaper, I would not bother helping you. I'd let you rot in here and await you in the hallway of the underworld while I sit in a comfortable evil chair and sip blood from an evil glass. Why take you there when you're still breathing? You'll die anyway. There's no food or water in this forest, and certainly no cleanliness and comfort."

"That's what I think. You're a confounding hell of a man, then?"

"Well, I'm certainly mortal, yes."

"I thought so, I didn't think the Grim Reaper is annoyingly talkative when he takes a dying man to the other side."

"You do have a nerve to be impudent when you're dying." Sharpe checked if the makeshift bandage that he tied around his wounded shoulder was secure.

"I thought to have at least an amusing conversation before I die and- He hissed and cursed violently when Sharpe touched his back.

"You got more wounds than a Scot in a bloody war with the entire England, eh?" Sharpe quipped in a grave tone, seeing the shirt on his back was damp with dried blood and burned flesh.

"Burns like hell.."

"I'll get some help. Don't move."

"I'll die. Let me die.."

"I'll be back. You will not die."

TBC

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><p>Author's note: Let me know what you think because I didn't have much time re- reading and re- writing this story for errors. I really want to know if I didn't suck up on this.<p>

Thank you for reading this story. :)

Christine will be coming up next.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

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><p>He's gone..<p>

That's all Christine could think of. Her world was swirling around her- the voices, the sounds coming from the parlor, the continuous barking of Harley, Raoul's wolfhound- but she could not understand the words being thrown back and forth. Her sister-in-law's distraught voice followed by a heart wrenching sob broke through her mind. Christine let out a deep breath as she reached out to Elena and gripped her trembling hands into her own fragile ones.

"What should we do, Christine? There must be something we can do for Raoul."

"We'll figure something out, but first go to your mother. She must be so upset. " Christine tugged at Elena's hands and shook her head. "Go to her and rest as well. You know that it's not healthy for the child you're carrying."

Elena's feeble protest died, knowing that any further attempts to sway her will not work when their arguments turned to the topic of her pregnancy. Christine often used that topic to put an end in their argument that the woman almost look like brandishing a trump card right at her face. And this was the only time that she didn't relish it. Sighing, Elena gave her hand a gentle squeeze, "Yes, but how about you?"

"I'll be alright." Yes. She'll be alright. Somehow the words didn't sound so convincing. _Dear God._. _What did Raoul got into?_

"Bring Simon with you, Christine. We don't know the truth yet and you'd better not go alone anywhere." Christine had told her husband the same thing before he left for England. She didn't quite know how he ended up behind the bars- how he was rumored to be a murderer. But Raoul was no murderer. He didn't have a heart to hurt anyone. How these people could not see frustrated her to no end.

"I'll go see what I can do for Mother. But, please, Christine, if there's any news about Raoul tell us immediately." With a gentle peck in the cheek, Elena turned toward the stairs.

"Hmm." Sebastian, Marquess of Westmount, and Raoul's closest friend sat at his study, frowning at her shoes. The lord who has been such a frightening and influential man in the Parliament seemed lost for a moment. It was apparent that he knew nothing about Raoul's situation.

"M'lord, we're loosing amount of time before they take Raoul to the gallows. I beg you to help me on this."Christine gripped at the folds of her dress in distress.

"Raoul's cousin is keeping a secret alliance with the Spanish military force. That's all I know. But the proof is evading us whenever we try to catch him. He managed to cover his tracks. This must be connected to Raoul's sudden imprisonment. His cousin must have devised a scheme and put all the attention of the police towards your husband."

"How are we going to find any proof? The authorities had disabled all of our ability to do something. We were told not to do anything. The news came from king's own personal guard!"

Sebastian must have sensed it, the desperation in her voice. Taking a sip from his wine, he said in a gentle but deadly whisper, "Who said that we're going to do anything?"

"M'lady, we are _definitely_ going to do anything and everything we can to save your husband. He's a man worth more than a hundred of those infidels combined together." The man who was rumored to be a raging storm in the Parliament came to life when he looked at her with intense blue eyes. "As for the King's guards, leave them up to me."

"I.." Tired and weary, Christine smiled. "Thank you, M'lord. But I cannot put you in danger. You have a wife and a daughter-

"Christine, there is something you should know- and know very well- about me," He paused and looked outside of the window before turning back to look at her, his gaze darting beyond her.

Lady Westmount stood at the doorway, a knowing smile upon her lips, as she came near. "My dear, he's not a spy just because of that frowny face and that daunting scar across it."

Standing from his seat, Sebastian took hold of his wife's hand and placed a chaste kiss on the back. "Why, my love, I always thought you find my scraggly face attractive and my scar irresistible." Lady Westmount blushed and slapped at his arm playfully, "We have a guest. And I'll not have Lady Christine to be witness to your scraggly behaviour." She turned to Christine. "But feel free to reprimand him if he forgot."

"You know you're the only one who like to forget things, love."

"Thank you, M'lady." Christine cut in with a smile. Although she warmed at the obvious affection the two have for each other.

Lady Westmount took her hand and said softly, "M'dear, we needn't be formal. Since we're going to be working together to right this mess." Smiling, Christine didn't fail to notice the stern look that she gave to Sebastian when he tried to protest. However, his scowl was ignored by his lovely wife who sat at the arm of his chair.

"Well, shall we start then?"


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: I don't know anything about history but the plot I'm working on are just made to make things interesting.

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone, Christine or the Phantom. The rest of the characters are from out of my imagination. If they resemble someone be it by name or description I don't own them.

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><p>Chapter Four<p>

There was only darkness and pain everywhere as if the raindrops pelting on his skin had turned to sharp crystals. Maybe it's not rain. More like needles as if every pore in his body was being prodded.

A strange aroma like that of boiled herbs flew into his nostrils. It was the only thing he could remember after being dragged into oblivion. And he didn't like it one bit.

"Do not resist.." A voice had said, and a sound much like a groan answered back.

A wet cloth was placed against his face. Cool but felt like suffocating. Where was he? He made a sound. Another groan. And this time he finally recognized he was the one making it.

"Tie him up.." He tugged and cursed. Trying to break the hold of what seems like a thousand hands was pointless. He didn't have much strength to fight off a bug and the pain almost overwhelmed his senses.

"Give him another dose of those but not too much.." There were sounds of metal clinking as if steering something from a pan. Footsteps. A chair being moved and dragged. And The smell of the medicine was getting stronger. He took a deep uneven breaths. _Morphine._

"Can I just beat 'ïm in the head?"

"No! He got enough wounds as it is."

"This one's got a mighty strength of a bull, he is, Naan."

"And the wall of your hut is going to fall down if he threw another man-"

"And takes us wif 'im to the afterlife."

"Do not say such things! He can hear you, you foolish child."

Odd, but he could not hear a child's voice in the room. They were men and with a very scot like accent. There was one voice he seems familiar with.

_You will not die…_

"Miss Daae! Miss Daae!"

"Yes, John?" Christine rushed down the steps, nearly tumbling over her long robe. "Calm yourself first and tell me of this urgent news."

"M'Lord bade me to give you this letter." Christine took the brown envelope and was about to open them when the young footman took hold of her arm. "He said we need to leave right away."

"Alright, just let me prepare a few things." She made a step back but the young man wouldn't let go. Christine tensed. "What is going on, John? Did something bad happen?"

"We need to leave right away, M'lady. You're not safe here. I'll tell you what happened once we're in the carriage. Mercy, your maid, is already there."

They left the house. Christine finally noticed the limp in the young man's walk, but didn't inquire about it until they reached the carriage. "Wait, you're going to drive with that injury? Where is your father?"

"We left him. He's dead, M'lady." Christine gasped. "I'm sorry. What happened?"

"We were ambushed. M'lord Sebastian went to the mansion and ordered me to get you."

"Then let us go." But before the boy could climb up at the seat Christine grasped his arm and half knelt in front of him. "M'lady, what are you doing, there's no need-

"You're going to bleed to death if we don't at least take care of that wound." Ripping a strip of cloth from her dress, Christine wrapped it around his injured leg and made sure the knots won't loosen. "Now drive fast, John."

The air inside the mansion seems light as they walked through the halls of the Westmount. It looked like that nothing terrible happened. Westmount's wife was endowed with a light and lively personality that even her house seems to reflect that characteristics. Yes, it seems peaceful.

But the silence was piercing.

The sense of apprehension seemed to ignite every hair in her body to stand up. And her eyesight hurt as she tried to perceive the walkways in the dark.

They stopped in front of a door. A flicker of light came from the small gap between the floor and the door. "I'll leave you here, m'lady."

"Alright, put something on that wound and take a rest."

As she knocked on the door the feminine voice of Lady Westmount came near. "Christine is that you? Open the door and come inside."

"Oh, dear, I was so worried about you." Lilian, Lady Westmount, threw her arms around her and gave a fierce hug. "My husband said that they might go after you."

"They?" Lilian took hold of her arm and let her sit down at the soft cushions of the sofa. Christine took a deep breath to calm her nerves but it helped only a little. "Drink this, it'll calm you." Lilian said as she noticed her trembling.

"They could be the ones responsible for the arrest of your husband but we still don't know."

"Who are they?"

"Sebastian's investigating right now. The stakes are on Lord Denville, Lord Cornwall, and Lord Burton."

Christine frowned. "Burton? Isn't he a relation of the Chagny?" After being a part of the ton when she married Raoul, Christine still had a hard time coping with all the rules that she must remember. And she was taught of the many bloodlines of her husband's family.

Edgar Burton was on the list.

He was a distant uncle of Raoul. A man with a thick mustache and wide forehead. Intimidating dark eyes and balding head. She remembered one family gathering how he had looked at her with contempt.

"Yes, he is. And that is why Sebastian wanted you to leave the house immediately. He might pay you a visit."

"But shouldn't I face him? They might take my disappearance wrongly."

"No, m'dear." She opened a few drawers of her husband's desk and delved through the stack of papers and letters. "One of Sebastian's source found a letter of utmost importance. It's supposed to be sent to the advisory of Spain.."

"But isn't that dangerous?" Christine interrupted.

"Yes. Well, it might be worth it." Lilian took a letter and gave it to her. "Because your husband's name was written in the letter. Sebastian was on his way to give you a copy this night. But some men attempted an ambush. Apparently it seems that we're also being spied on. Those cunning bastards.." It was quite surprising to hear those curse words from the Countess of Westmount. But with such an outstanding husband an equivalent spirited and strong headed wife was Sebastian's best match.

"Thank goodness you're here." Sebastian walked inside and went around the desk to give Lilian a peck on the cheek. "Is my little princess asleep?" At her short nod, he took a seat.

"Christine, do you recognize the one who sent that letter?"

"Yes, he's another relative of Raoul's."

"You might have to leave the estate."

"But won't they think it odd now that the authorities are tight on us."

"They will not think it odd if you say that you're a widower who needs time to mourn her husband."

"But Raoul is not dead yet!"

"He is not. But they are going to send him to the gallows on the next eve." Christine gave a few sobs and fought him when he tried to put a supportive hand on her shoulder. "Don't lose hope."

She looked at his face and saw for the first time why he was named "savage" among the ton.

"They will not kill him yet. They will just make it look like they killed him."

"But why would they do that?"

"Your husband has something that they want. And that's what we're going to find out."

Author's note: I'll make the next chapter interesting. Christine and the Phantom will soon meet and this time with no Raoul to stop him from getting what he want.. and the Phantom definitely still want the lovely Christine Daae. What say you guys? Reviews are welcome! So please tell me you opinions. Thank you! :)


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